Memoir Chronicler

Gratitude

2009-11-21T19:08:00.003-05:00

This past week was one of the worst I've had since my life fell apart the first week in June. Thursday night I cried so hard I shook; I sobbed so much I couldn't breathe; I screamed so loud I strained my vocal chords, beating the nearest pillow trying to purge the rage inside me against the man who defecated our beautiful marriage.

Afterward, I felt drained, so exhausted I barely had enough strength to lift a pen to journal that evening before bed. The next day, I felt better and tonight, some wonderful friends reminded me of how much I have to be grateful for. I'll need eternity to give praise for all I've been given but my top three are as follows:

• Life - it's only by God's grace that I am still on this earth
• Tragedy - it's in the darkest times that I look for the Light
• Family and friends - those who lift my head when I haven't strength to do it alone

I was also reminded today how the One I adore has gifted me with the ability to listen to classical music, feel the warmth of a blazing fire and find hidden treasures amidst the discarded (the classic pictured above was a find in a yard sale this morning from a man who, like myself, is a literature lover but, no longer has the room to house his prized possessions - now, I get to benefit from them).

Remember to be grateful for the blessings you have; you will find them bountiful when you seek them.

Happy Thanksgiving!
RJ

Stoking the Flames

2009-11-07T21:14:00.004-05:00

I love fire - the way it pops and crackles, sizzles and whistles, with a blowing sound like wind through freshly cleaned laundry. The dancing flames mesmerize me even as they warm my cheeks, hands and knees.

Fires were always my favorite part of camping and bring back many fond memories of trips my husband and I used to take. Fire also reminds me of bonfires we went to and the wood burning fireplace at our honeymoon cabin in the Smoky Mountains. That smoky smell of burnt cedar which permeates clothes and hair is one I hate washing out.

I've always been a pyromaniac but have never been able to build a roaring fire of my own until tonight (above). I kept it going for three wonderful hours. It gave me time to think about the hundreds of pictures I'd gone through earlier in the day for the first time since I learned of my husband's infidelity. Surprisingly, I wasn't overcome with grief. Instead, only a thin veil of sadness lightly covered the overall joy I felt in looking back over 11 years of beautiful memories and I thought, even if he was able to let his go up in smoke, I will never cast mine upon the flames.

May your days ahead burn brightly,

Authors and Editors and Agents! Oh, My!

2009-10-26T21:00:00.001-04:00

This past weekend, I attended the South Carolina Writer's Workshop conference in Myrtle Beach. What an experience!

Friday morning I learned about memoir writing from Jackie K. Cooper, author of five memoirs. That afternoon, I went to a social networking class taught by Janet Reid, an agent with FinePrint Literary Management in New York City. Janet has a hilarious sense of humor and entertained us all, especially on two occasions when she accidentally replaced the term 'social' in Social Networking with a word generally reserved for intimate relations between a man and a woman. Who knew a New York agent could turn so red?

It was interesting to encounter Janet's more laid back personality and then contrast it with the intense agents that taught two of the Saturday classes I attended. One in particular I found especially intimidating but I still attempted to try to form some type of bond with him that night when standing in line at dinner in hopes of getting all the contacts I could.

Before going to stand in line, I thought I overheard him complaining to the agent next to me about a woman at his table who had been pestering him all day. While we were waiting in line, I leaned over and confidentially asked him, "Do you have a stalker?"

"No," he replied, looking at me oddly. "Do you?"

I laughed and attempted to clarify why I had brought it up but by that time he had already taken a giant two foot step back. He avoided eye contact with me the rest of the way down the buffet and pretended not to hear me any time I tried to talk to him again. He shall remain nameless lest he stumble across this and still think I'm trying to be his stalker.

I have a great deal more I'd like to write but Janet said to keep blog posts to a max of 250 words. Since I'm already over that, the rest will have to wait. For any writers looking for tidbits, please ask away and I'll share as much as I can next time.

Until then!
RJ

Authenticity

2009-10-17T23:11:00.003-04:00

As a little girl, I adored my dad. I used to wear my sparkly "Daddy's Girl" t-shirt everywhere. When my parents divorced though, I held my dad completely responsible. For years, I was horribly cruel to him though it was very seldom outright. I was shamelessly passive aggressive - taking cheap shots, keeping him at a distance, and putting everyone else above him.

Several years ago, we had an awful blowout, one that had been building for over a decade. I said some terrible things I wish I could take back, and not for the first time. I remember screaming at him at one point: "Why do you even bother with me?"

"Because I love you!" he yelled back.

Unlike many fathers, my dad has always been good about telling me that he loves me but it was only then when he was able to say it in the heat of our worst fight ever, at a time when I was being brutally mean to him, that I truly understood how very much he meant it and had always meant it.

Our relationship improved greatly after that as I started to see my dad in a new light. I was so afraid of losing that relationship again though that I started trying to do things to impress him, talk only about topics I knew he was interested in, and say only what I thought he wanted to hear.

Part of recovering from the shock of my husband's string of affairs has been learning to love myself enough to be who I really am despite how others might react. Tonight, when my dad asked me a philosophical question, I began responding by giving him the answer I thought would most impress him. I could feel genuineness draining from me the more I talked though so I finally stopped, backed up and told him what I really thought. Not only did I feel better after doing so but he then told me of his experiences recently starting telling people what he really thinks about certain topics. He said he has been pleasantly surprised to find that, while some people were turned off by his views, many more actually liked him better for his honesty.

One of the lessons I learned early in my recovery was that people cared more for and opened up more to me when I admitted my flaws rather than pretending to be perfect. It was one of the most freeing experiences of my life but somehow, ever so subtly, I've slowly begun to sink back into the belief that I am only loved when I am what I think others want me to be. What a blessing to have a dad who affirms that I'm loved best when I'm simply me.

Until next time,
RJ

Better Than One

2009-10-12T18:25:00.002-04:00

Several weeks ago I climbed Crowders Mountain by myself (http://memoirchronicler.blogspot.com/2009/08/journey-begins.html). What a rush! This past weekend, my middle brother and my mom came to visit me and climbed the mountain with me. What an experience! It took at least twice as long to get up the mountain with them as it did to go myself and at times, I got irritated they were so slow.

Isn't that the way life is sometimes? I know I certainly prefer to do things all by myself whenever possible. Interestingly though, I found that as we took our time getting up the mountain, I saw things with them I never would have noticed on my own, one of them being the shot above which I call 'Shark Rock - Woo, Ha, Ha' (those who haven't seen Finding Nemo or who don't have as weird a sense of humor as my family may not get that latter reference…).

I was so determined to reach the top when I went by myself that I didn't really look around me much the last time I trekked up. This time, because I was slowed down by my family, I discovered the shot above, my favorite of the entire day. I would not have even noticed it if my brother hadn't stopped to shoot the rock and, though my mom and I immediately noticed how much the rock looked like a shark coming out of the 'water,' when I asked my brother to pose in front it, I never would have thought of the creative position he took which was far more clever than what I'd had in mind.

That's the thing with adding people into your life. It can be aggravating at times because it means changing your agenda. But, it's so much fuller when done with others.

Until next time!
RJ

A Picture of Peace

2009-10-03T20:16:00.000-04:00

"A picture says 1,000 words," or so the saying goes. But a picture can never entirely capture the pure essence of a particular time and place which is why I have posted none this week.

After getting out of bed ridiculously late today, I finally got out to run some errands this afternoon. The first was going to be to an antique shop to look for old books but the weather was so enchanting the thought of being inside seemed terribly confining. Instead, I decided to take a casual stroll through a nearby park.

Early into my walk I found a bench on the side of the walkway and sat down to admire the scene before me. Some of what I saw could have been captured on film - the young couple sitting on a sheet under the shade of an oak tree, the boy stretched out lazily and the girl sitting cross-legged admiring the open field before her; a dog flipping to its back, rolling in the grass like a puppy; a young brother and sister chasing each other through the trees, the sister falling to her chubby knees completely unhampered in her play; a middle age girl running across the field to the top of a small hill.

But a camera couldn't catch the way the small children's mother called to them to be careful or how I felt watching the middle school girl talking to her father after running back across the field calling for her dad. The way he bent down to talk to her confidentially reminded me of the days my dad and I would plot before making a soccer play against the opposing team full of friends and other family members. A photograph also couldn't capture the elephant-like screeching of a swing straining to hold an adult woman where only a child should be or her laughter as she experiences the delight of being a child herself once more.

Most of all, a picture could not portray the way the cool, clean breeze blew the dust and cobwebs gathered from the drudge of my recent life so deeply out of my soul so I still feel completely at peace regardless of the hectic hurry of the world around me. If I could but capture all these sounds and feelings into the perfect picture, how many others might stop to embrace their own serenity as well?

May you find peace this week,
RJ

Tins and Glasses

2009-09-26T22:06:00.001-04:00

It's funny how frequently I used to find myself looking and planning for one thing then being completely irritated when I got something else. I'm slowly learning though that with the right outlook, life generally gifts me with something far better than what I'd planned for myself.

Today for instance, I had planned to write about a dream I've always had to one day own a large, lovely library. I could very easily picture myself spending eternity in the library featured in Disney's 1991 Beauty and the Beast but since I currently only have three beautifully bound books and don't plan to ever buy a gigantic house with that much room, I'm content to let my collection grow slowly.

Since I would like to expand my current assortment however and wish to do as frugally as possible, I started today by searching Goodwill. I had no luck there so I decided to try searching through some of the boxes stored in my attic. I didn't find any books worthy of my dream collection but I did find two boxes full of a past love I had completely forgotten about - old tins. The first one I ever bought is featured above.

Few people may think of a tin as precious but when I look at my tins, they encapsulate for me the innocence I once had and the loveliness I used to see in this world around me. I photographed the tin above because it was the first in my collection but truly, my favorites are those I have featuring Norman Rockwell's work.

I went to a Norman Rockwell exhibit once and saw a quote from him that stated something to this effect:

"I paint the world the way I want it to be."

I've struggled not to make my last few blog entries completely dark and depressing but I fear they still turned out that way since the lenses I've been seeing through lately have been almost wholly black. I guess I was surprised today to find that I still have my rose-colored glasses. Though somewhat scratched, they still appear to be usable. So, while my dark glasses are inevitable and my clear glasses help me see life as it is, I'm going to start taking better care of my favorite pair.

Until next week,
RJ

Why?

2009-09-19T17:38:00.002-04:00

I'm really glad I had yesterday at Hanging Rock State Park (above) to be in the calm of the outdoor world amidst the serenity of nature because today has been awful.

This week, I talked to a counselor about my husband's actions. He assured me that my husband is never going to change and advised me to get divorced as quickly as possible. While that served to validate what I've already suspected, my heart still can't seem to catch up with my head. In my head, I accept that my husband is the 'Grand Manipulator' (as the psychologist called him) but my heart can't reconcile that with the gentle, kind man he showed himself to be to me for over a decade.

This week at CODA (Codependents Anonymous - OK, so I'm not anonymous but everyone else shall remain so!) someone asked how we deal with the question of "Why?" I ask 'why' in an attempt to try to figure out how I can regain control and fix the situation. Somehow, I think that by continually asking why my husband couldn't ever be faithful to me or why he feels no regret for the pain he caused me or why this had to happen to me when I didn't do anything to deserve it, I'm in control.

Even if I'm not consciously obsessing about these questions, they are almost always lurking at the back of my mind. Today, they were right at the surface. All my thoughts and energy were focused on pondering these questions so it took everything I had left to finally drag myself out of bed, take a shower and eat.

It's so hard for me to stop questioning my husband's actions but I'm having to learn to accept is the fact that I will most likely never really know or understand his behavior; I can only control me.

I still don't know all the answers even to my own whys, like why I find it so hard to let him go even after seeing love letters to another female in his own handwriting in our own house, or why I saw no red flags until it was too late but I'm working on channeling my energy into letting go of the 'whys' so I can better answer the 'whats.' What can I do to heal today? What will I choose to feel even when it seems there is no hope? What will I hang onto when the rest of life falls apart?

So far, I've wasted the day enmeshed and overwhelmed by the unanswerable whys. For the rest the day, I'm focusing on the whats. What can I do for myself? First, I choose to believe that I'm still because a Higher Power has a purpose for me. And second, I choose to enjoy life instead of wallowing in my misery. Instead of staying at home and moping the rest of the evening, I will go to a movie and participate in the world around me. Using my power to change my thoughts and my action is WHAT is going to get me through.

Until next week,
RJ

Good Enough

2009-09-12T20:26:00.004-04:00

I went to a play with a friend yesterday at a local theatre that generally puts on spectacular shows. The one last night was definitely not their best. The main actress over-acted and sang off key and there were far too many "run away screaming" exits by the cast members in the first half of the play. Even so, I still had a good time and appreciated the effort put into the production even if the final outcome was less than perfect.

Lowering my demands on others is allowing me to accept imperfection from myself. For instance, today I had planned to do some shopping and mow my grass. Instead, I ended up sleeping 'til 11 a.m. and napping from 1-4 p.m. I reluctantly got up at 4 and did at least get in one errand before visiting Glencairn Gardens, a part of which is featured above. I wasn't really inspired to take a lot of pictures at the park but took them anyway. I had very little hope of being happy with any of them when I got home. With such low expectations though, I was pleasantly surprised to find a few that turned out OK, including, I think, the one above.

The same thing sometimes happens with my writing. I wasn't thrilled with last week's blog but, I did it. I'm not as wholly inspired with this one as I was with 'The Journey Begins.' Walking around a local park didn't exactly give me the same high as climbing a mountain an hour away but, it was enough to get me out of the house and doing something creative enough to get me writing. For today, that's good enough.

Until next week,

Thank Goodness for Embarrassing Moments

2009-09-07T20:49:00.003-04:00

On my way to Columbia Friday I stopped by a friend's house to drop off some food. They'd just had a baby last Sunday and I wanted to be sure they didn't have to cook over the weekend. I got to their condos but couldn't remember which one they were in so I looked them up in the contact list on my cell phone and pressed 'Send.'

"Hello?" said the voice that picked up.

"Lauren?" I asked.

"Hi Becca!"

Holy crap! I'd accidentally hit my mother-in-law's programmed-in number. The only person I want to talk to less is my cheating husband.

I was so caught off guard I just spit out the first thing that came to mind:

"Oh. Sorry! I dialed the wrong number." Click.

That click? Yeah, that was me hanging up on her. Smooth huh? Definitely subtle.

To drive home just how ridiculous that whole scenario must have seemed from her side, my smart-aleck brother, who I had told of my faux pas, called me about 30 minutes after I related my story.

"Hey!" I said as I saw his name pop up on my cell.

"Oops. Wrong number," he said, and hung up.

I sat there stunned for a moment and then doubled over laughing. I knew it must have sounded odd from my mother-in-law's side of things but I had no idea how wholly absurd it really was until he did it back to me.

Ah well. It gave me a good laugh and helped me to remember not to take myself and life so seriously.

Until next week!
RJ

The Journey Begins

2009-08-29T20:59:00.004-04:00

I climbed a mountain today.

Physically, I reached the top of Crowder's Mountain (above - yes I took that, hence the shadows!). Metaphorically, I climbed the first in a chain of mountains by taking the beginning step toward conquering the ultimate mountain in my life - learning who I am through writing my memoir.

My memoir is still in its infancy. For now, it's just a journal, started that awful day in June when I first found out my soulmate has been untrue. While I'd already been told that he's been cheating on me for the past seven of our nine years of marriage, today, I got confirmation of what I've been fearing since that fateful day three months ago. He was never faithful, even while we were dating.

Learning from complete strangers and people that, until now, I've had only the smallest bit of contact with, that the love of my life has been lying to me the entire 11 years I've known him was an unbearable shock. The man I trusted more than anyone on earth betrayed more than I ever could have imagined. Discovering that this person I had built my entire life around never existed at all shattered my self esteem and ability to trust myself. My anxiety went out the roof and is still easily triggered as I wait in terror for the next bomb to drop, trying to brace myself less I be blown to bits again. Emotionally, it was truly like having my legs cut out from under me. No warning, just - gone. No preparation, just - suddenly alone.

I've never lived by myself before. I've always had someone to talk to, to help me make decisions, to hang out with. Since losing my husband, I've been too afraid to do anything by myself until today. I had thought about hiking the mountain last weekend but was too depressed to leave the comfort of my house, my hiding place. Last night, I swore I would make myself go no matter what.

As I left my house and started driving, I felt pressured for time, something my soon-to-be-ex was always stressing about. Then I started panicking that I would get lost being as directionally challenged as I am. On top of that, I was driving on an extended trip, something my husband usually did since driving stresses me out so much, especially when going somewhere I've never been before. The realization that I was doing something new and wholly alone made it difficult for me to breathe. I had to focus on breathing just to get there.

For those who have never experienced the pain of adultery in a marriage, such a small task as driving to a new place may sound like a ridiculous thing to stress over. I would have thought so before now too but after losing my other half so unexpectedly, I often find it hard to get along with only the half I've been left.

Oddly, when I arrived, I realized my husband and I actually had been to this park once before. We'd trekked up Kings Mountain instead of Crowders though because he wanted to. This time, I got to make the decision so I took the most strenuous route I could find up to Crowders knowing my soon-to-be-ex would have hated it.

I spent the first part of the way up huffing and puffing, sweating, tripping occasionally and groaning internally about the weight of my backpack which seemed only to get heavier as I went along. I passed a few people at the beginning and then was passed by one or two. I started measuring my progress based on their speed or lack thereof and then it dawned on me that I was alone. I could go at whatever pace I wanted. I need not be concerned with the speed of those around me. So I slowed down, watching where I was walking - and thus, tripping less - and started to notice that some of the leaves were already changing color. I closed my eyes (very briefly lest I trip) and felt the cool, gentle breeze on my face and I drew comfort from the sound of the ice in my water bottle clinking as I hiked along.

I reached a stopping point near the top where others were resting but I didn't stop. I didn't feel like lingering any longer and I had no one I had to consult. So I went on. I'm pretty sure my face was purple by the time I climbed the 90 degree angled slope and the 500 or so stairs at the end (OK, maybe not quite 500) but the view from atop, as I hope you can see from the photo above, was well worth it.

I had triumphed. I had conquered the mountain and I had done it alone. I sat down to enjoy the view and then quickly had my spirits dampened by three different couples.

Two of the couples were young college kids who sat down behind me a few minutes after I got there. They cut up, laughed and flirted reminding me of myself at that age. The other couple looked to be in their mid-20s and cut me off right before I was about to head back down the stairs, as if I wasn't even there. My elation quickly melted into loneliness and despair as I dwelt on the loss of my innocence and my spouse.

As I plodded down the tip of the mountain I found I needed to stop at the resting place I'd passed by so confidently on the way up. I wrote about how awful I felt then made myself get up and go down the rest of the mountain.

On the way down, I passed many more people than I did on the way up and this time, I was paying closer attention to them than myself. I saw, among others, a lesbian couple, a single dad, a married couple, and a young family carrying a baby while walking a toddler. Each group seemed happy but I realized that they too all had their own problems and really - I was happy being alone. I hadn't had to force conversation the whole time or wait on someone or try to rush to catch up with anyone. I was free to march to the beat of my own drummer.

Yes, I miss the naiveté of my college years and seeing happy young couples jolts me into grieving over the best friend I lost in my husband but as I drove home, I felt a sense of accomplishment like I haven't felt since the day my world came crashing down. I had finally done something alone. It reminded me again that I can go on. I will find out who I am meant to be. I will finish my memoir and it will bring healing.

I climbed a mountain today.

To Twitter or Not To Twitter

2009-08-22T15:03:00.005-04:00

Not. Not for me anyway.

I read several articles about Twitter this past week and most of them seemed favorable towards authors using Twitter. One article even stated that a woman got a book contract because of her Twittering. While it may have worked for her, I see several pitfalls for authors who Twitter. Before signing up, ask yourself:

1) Do I have anything of value to offer?

I can't even get BlogCatalog to list this blog yet because it has so few posts and my memoir isn't ready to be discussed at this point so I don't really have anything to Twitter about so far besides any new posts on my blog. And the one thing I did read consistently was that people who just promote themselves are considered to be annoying Twitterers and are soon ignored.

2) Is the time spent learning how Twitter works worth it?

Twitter is supposed to be easy but for the technologically challenged, like me, it could take hours or even days to figure it out. And then, there's still no guarantee that you will generate a great deal of 'traffic.' While I might be able to use Twitter to my advantage if I took the time to really study it, I'd rather spend that time writing. I get distracted easily enough as it is.

3) Can you convey an idea in one sentence?

With only 140 characters per Tweet, it's far too short for a diver like me to get into the really deep stuff.

4) What are you using Twitter for?

From what I have discovered thus far, the majority of authors who use it are 'testing the waters' to see what their followers do or don't like. To me, authenticity is more important than popularity. While some writers can write for money and still keep their integrity, I feel like I'm selling my soul for the sale.

My advice? If you have time, enjoy socializing and are great at networking, Twitter may be for you. I may even have to eat my words one day if I decide to use it too but for now, chronicling the memories takes precedence.

Until next week!
RJ

The Decision to Dive

2009-08-15T18:25:00.001-04:00

In her book I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was (one of my all-time favorites), Barbara Sher helps readers discover what they want to do with their lives. One of the chapters I've been re-reading recently discusses "divers" versus "scanners."

Sher describes a scanner as "a person who delights in the astonishing, unending variety around us."* I prefer to call this group snorkelers because it keeps better with the water theme.

A diver, on the other hand, "want[s] to go deeper and deeper into your subject until you dedicate your entire life to it."**

Until yesterday, I was a diver in denial.

I've tried diving before but felt like I was drowning and gave up, quickly exiting the water before giving myself time to see if I really was drowning or if I simply needed a moment to adjust to the depths. After deserting my dive, I'd look around at all the other rivers, lakes, oceans and ponds available to me feeling completely overwhelmed to the point of simply standing there. Eventually, I'd drag my suddenly heavy body to each pool, dipping in a toe, glancing back longingly at the pool I'd dived into and deserted. Then I'd force myself to refocus only to find myself looking around again at the vast bodies of water I still felt compelled to try, all the while, my resolve shriveling up as did my toe thoughtlessly forgotten in the water at my feet.

With a jerk, I'd yank my pruned toe from the pool, throwing my shoulders back determined to try again and attack as many pools as possible. The harder I tried the more I despaired. I know why now. I was trying to be a snorkeler, a "jack of all trades," and never feeling fulfilled.

I tried writing fiction for children, writing news stories for the local paper, drafting a simply dreadful 'novel' in 30 days as part of National Novel Writing Month and started and stopped enough articles, stories and ideas to fill up the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. While I have had luck with one or two articles outside of the newspaper, I've always felt too inundated with research to get motivated to write for any periodicals so I always gave only a half-hearted attempt (except once with The Writer and that one, I think, would have actually worked out if I'd had more publishing credits) and of course, inevitably, received rejection after rejection after rejection.

I've tried spiritual journaling, diary writing and freestyle writing (as suggested by Natalie Goldman in Writing Down the Bones). I signed up for Twitter, Facebook and BlogCatalog for my original blog (writingfortheloveofit.com) but, after a recent trauma, writing simply for the love of it won't work any more. I finally have a purpose - to write my story in hopes of helping others. But I can't dive into that calling until I stop trying to snorkel in every existing pool of water.

For some people, endless options inspire them. They are snorkelers. They get energy from dipping into as many pools as they can as quickly as they can and then jumping to the next one as soon as they've seen what they wanted to in whichever river, lake or stream they just explored. For me, just watching them is exhausting. So, I've decided today to embrace the diver in me.

I could have it all wrong. I could be a snorkeler pretending to be a diver but the thought of focusing on only one thing got me so excited yesterday that when I got home from work, I dropped the mail on the counter, kicked off my shoes, walked right past the piles of books and papers strewn about and, without grabbing any food or water (very unusual for me), came straight to the computer to write this with my work clothes still on. It's rare for me to feel like that with writing so I must embrace it when it comes.

Sher recommends that those, like me, who think they might be unhappy divers commit to something just for 30 days. It's possible this blog will end in 30 days. In college, I changed majors 7 times. After college, I went back to school and changed again another 3 times. But I think this blog will last beyond 30 days because, as with my choice of college studies, I haven't been happy until now when I finally settled on English (teaching literature and writing on the side).

As might be obvious from the name of this blog, my particular calling is to memoir writing. It's all I can think about. So, from here on out, this blog is dedicated to my dive into the world of writing a memoir. While I've got plenty of material for the book in progress (over 200 pages of journaling in the past 2 1/2 months alone), I'm only just beginning my dive into putting it altogether. If you too are a chronicler, I hope you'll dive right in here with me, pulling me back when I freak out and try to exit the dive at the best part and encouraging me not to give up when I get stuck in a cave and can't find my way out.

If you're ready to dive, join me next week when I explore the world of Twitter. Is it beneficial or harmful to those of us writing books and memoirs?

Until next week, keep diving!

*Sher, Barbara. I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was. Dell Publishing, New York, 1994: P 101

** Sher, Barbara. I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was. Dell Publishing, New York, 1994: P 102